


Emergence

by RavenCoronis



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, OC, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenCoronis/pseuds/RavenCoronis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story takes place between Nyreen Kandros and my OC Cyra Coronis during their training on Palaven, long before the events in the Omega DLC. It details a series of incidents that eventually set off the next chapter of Nyreen’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my editor sunset_moth (http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunset_moth/pseuds/sunset_moth), whose brilliant writing mind also inspires me constantly.

Nyreen dashed in the freezing rain, wobbling in the ankle-deep mud as she struggled to carry the Phaeston that was clearly too big for the 16-year old turian. The crumbling buildings around her seemed to dance and weave under the ghostly illumination of her flashlight as she hopped over a burnt-out wreckage and slid through a decrepit door into a ruined lobby.

She overbalanced and fell on her back, sliding across the unexpectedly slippery tiled floor. Her view of the ceiling was interrupted as an armored krogan emerged from around a corner, roaring thunderously and pointing his Claymore down directly at the turian. But a quick succession of shots from her Phaeston ripped through the krogan’s jaw, tearing him into a plume of holographic dust.

Wisps of shimmering particles twirled in the air and trailed after her swift movement as she scrambled to her feet and vaulted over the reception desk, making her way through a collapsed staircase. She finally stopped by a second-floor window, propped her Phaeston on the window sill and looked through the scope. Scanning the rainy expanse of this urban warfare training ground she soon located their primary objective: a group of high-value krogan targets amassed in the town square.

“Cyra, enemies sighted in the square, just beyond the next two buildings,” she tapped her earbug and reported to her squad leader, who was barely a month older than her. “You’re clear to approach this building.”

* * *

“Good work, Nyreen,” Cyra said tersely over the radio, grinning at the three other turians gathered around her. Each of them sat or crouched against some kind of scorched wreckage, huddling their Phaestons amidst the worsening rainstorm, getting a reprieve while Nyreen scouted ahead. Mud and burnt marks from their earlier fights smeared across their armors, making these young trainees look more seasoned than they actually were. But their progress through this exercise had been exemplary, and now their objective lied close. They had beaten the time of all other rival squads so far, in no small part due to Cyra’s incessant slave-driving of her squad mates.

The Performance Commendation was practically theirs. She could already smell it. “Just a little further, guys!” She said excitedly. “We’re almost there. The medal will be ours!”

White trails of precisely placed shots began whizzing from Nyreen’s scoped Phaeston, cutting down holographic krogan guards on nearby rooftops. Below her, Cyra and the rest crossed the crater-riddled street and stacked outside the last building before the town square. The rusty door blew to splinters from the breaching charge as four armed turians burst into the room, quickly taking down krogan enemies in a frantic series of muzzle flashes.

They proceeded down the corridor to the next batch of rooms, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a Claymore emerging from behind a half-open door, inches away from one of her squad mates.

“Aeton! _Watch out!_ ” She cried, pushing through armored bodies to fire at the hiding krogan, but sparks burst from the hologram’s shotgun first, and its target stumbled back as omni-blade-like pallets smashed into the young turian’s side.

“Damned Spirits!” Aeton fell to the floor hard, body convoluting in pain. “I already checked that room!”

“Well you missed something!” Cyra hissed angrily and pulled him up.

Aeton let out a frustrated growl, gaze averting from Cyra’s piercing sapphire eyes, knowing how hard the squad had worked for the medal. “Sorry. Good luck to you all.”

“It’s okay; we’ll review it later. We are still ahead of the clock,” she said and lifted a dismissive hand, patting his shoulder, comforting him as much as keeping up the squad’s morale.

“Nyreen, Aeton is down,” she said over the radio a moment later. “I need you to take his place for the big assault.”

* * *

The squad was hiding behind an overturned truck just outside the town square when Nyreen rendezvoused with them, gliding silently into position beside Cyra.

Heavily armed guards dotted the harsh remains of a shattered town square, while higher-ranking officers and armored vehicles sat next to the rubble of a once-standing statue of the turian god of creation. A difficult fight to pick, but the squad had the element of surprise and a little something else…

Two flashes of flame lit up the sky and kicked up a cloud of dust as two missiles flew at Cyra’s command. The armored vehicles erupted into two fireballs, and the squad opened fire on the enemies, dropping the first few before the rest had time to react. The krogans were not easily shaken, and they quickly roused into a battle fervor. Slow but thunderous blasts of Claymores and Strikers cut through a tide of war cries as the holograms fought back ferociously.

The enemies were being thinned rapidly, but a few aggressive ones pressed closer towards the squad. Their glowing omni-blades sizzled in the driving rain, ready to attack. “They’re getting closer!” One of her squad mates called in alarm and pulled out a grenade. Just then a krogan hopped onto their cover, his omni-blade slashing directly down at the turian, stunning him painfully.

The grenade fell and bounced, and everything turned into slow-motion for Nyreen as it rolled towards Cyra’s feet. The tiny and fringe-raising beeps of the armed explosive reverberated like a pendulum clock in her ears. Cyra was unaware, being drowned in the relentless firing of her Phaeston, and there was no time to warn or to process the reason as she dived and shielded Cyra in her arms. In the next split second they were both engulfed in the point-blank explosion.

***

Ringing. No, buzzing. Buzzing of a siren from somewhere, and panicked voices. The gunfires had stopped, replaced by frantic yelling of her squad mates and rushing footsteps. There was something else: an echoing flow of power that lashed out from the core of her being, terrifying yet familiar, shrouding her body like an ethereal flame.

Warmth—close, comforting and safe.

She opened her eyes and found everything veiled in smoke. She was curled up on top of Cyra, who looked back at her with wide, stunned eyes that mirrored her own expression. She glanced aside in a dazed trance; the ground had been scorched by the explosion. But the blast marks stopped abruptly around them, enclosing the two turians in a perfect circle, and a dome of shimmering blue barrier above them was quickly fading away.

* * *

It took Cyra almost an hour and a few laps around the base to finally find Nyreen sitting by herself under the emergency stairs.

“Nyreen,” she called, her quiet voice echoing in the secluded staircase. “They want to talk to us.”

The other turian simply replied with a nod. They both knew why their commanding officer wanted to see them.

Cyra sat down beside Nyreen on the bare concrete floor, studying her side profile. Her cream-colored face was hooded in shadow. Weary. And her downcast emerald eyes had lost their usual spirited gleam.

A twinge of pain and a silent rage at the unfairness rippled in Cyra’s heart, and she placed a hand on Nyreen’s shoulder lightly, feeling her slump ever so slightly into her touch. “Look,” she said softly. “I don’t care about what you did… You saved my life… and I won’t forget that.”

***

They stood before the desk in the officer’s office. The room was dark, save for slivers of light that spilled in through the blinds, slashing across a flag of the Hierarchy like a raptor’s talons. The flag was the most illuminated item in the entire room, hanging above the desk impeccably as if scrutinizing Cyra and Nyreen’s every move. Cold and unmoving.

Accidents happened in training exercises. Mistakes, misfires, and simple misfortune had claimed the lives of many young turians, and everyone was thankful to the Spirits when trainees survived an accident like the latest one. But no one expected anyone to escape unscathed.

Serious problems arose when that happened.

Testimonies had already been collected from their squad mates. No one saw the wayward grenade until an explosion amongst them shocked them to realization. “And this is why I ask you to please illuminate me, Ms. Coronis and Ms. Kandros,” the officer hummed. “How did you manage to avoid the explosion?”

Cyra’s steely sapphire eyes were locked on the officer’s, but she could feel Nyreen’s glance, and she began with the story they had both agreed to.

Luck, defects in the grenade, and the rain. Various factors all contributed to their armors deflecting most of the explosive force. Cyra spun the tale, keeping her tone emotionless as her memory flashed, omitting entirely the ghostly aura that shrouded them both.

Omitting entirely the fact that she had been firing at the enemies when Nyreen pushed her to the ground. She had been shocked, then furious. But she was silenced when a burst of blue tendrils unfolded above Nyreen like angelic wings, quickly weaving together to form a barrier bubble around them. A split second later, a blinding fireball consumed everything.

Except a warmth. Close, comforting and safe.

“Thank you, Ms. Coronis,” the officer said noncommittally, jotting down some notes on his datapad, and dismissed them both after getting the same story from Nyreen.

He brought up his lieutenant on the screen after the door closed. “Get some eyes on both of them,” he said, filing their testimonies into the case. “If Kandros’ biotics manifest again, notify the Cabal.”

* * *

“You’re a biotic, right?” Cyra said almost nonchalantly, her sapphire eyes twinkled luminescently under the full moon. “That’s how you did it.”

Nyreen looked away, talons scratching little gouges into the edge of the rooftop where they sat.

“You know I can keep a secret…” Cyra teased, leaning closer. Her eyes were glowing with more curiosity than mischief. “They bought our story anyway.”

“This isn’t a joking matter,” Nyreen nudged her away, pouting. The stone had been weighing on her heart since their testimonies. Somewhere, somehow she _knew_ they were watching her. “I’m going to be sent to the Cabal.”

“Have you always known?” Cyra sobered slightly and asked. The Cabal was the most secretive and cloistered branch of the Hierarchy military, where biotics-sensitive individuals were confined and segregated from the rest. The purpose was to protect them from a distrust of biotics amongst the ranks. In reality, once you were sent to the Cabal, you simply disappeared.

Nyreen shrugged absently, staring at the lights below, trying to remember the intangible. “No. Yes, but no. I’ve always felt… a force within me. But it was always fleeting, waxing and waning like the breaths I take.”

“So how did you know how to do that?” Cyra asked, her finger drawing a dome in the air in the shape of a barrier bubble.

“I didn’t,” Nyreen said simply, her eyes gleaming lucently like two verdant gems as they met Cyra’s. She remembered a simple emotion amidst the chaos of gunfires and shouting as she placed herself protectively over Cyra. An emotion that poured forth from her heart and overcame the gap between mind and matter, for the first time manifesting in a radiance of raw biotic force around her.

An emotion that she saw in those luminescent sapphire eyes. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

* * *

“ _Boo!_ ” Someone lunged at Cyra from behind, shouting at the top of his lungs. She jumped, almost knocking her tray of food off the table, followed by a round of asinine laughter around her.

A tall and slender turian walked out from the crowd, her amber eyes glowing maliciously between harsh yellow facial markings. A smug smirk hung on her lips as she leaned down, hovering over Cyra. “Oh look… poor bird is scared of a little noise. Does it remind you of something? A grenade perhaps?”

“Screw off, Melete.” Cyra shot her a glare and returned to her food.

Melete’s smirk widened at the infuriation that she had apparently stirred. “Oh how ironic! Wasn’t that my line? Right! You were sitting there, and you were taunting me about getting a certain medal, weren’t you?”

“Yes. An accident happened. Your squad won. Happy?” Cyra picked up the tray and stood up, nudging Nyreen beside her. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Nyreen gathered her things, but Melete had swooped down, sneering viciously at her. “And Nyreen! Who was cringing on top of Cyra when the ‘accident’ happened,” she tapped her talon condescendingly on Nyreen’s head. “Your squad only lost because of you, you know?”

“Lay off her, Melete! And that’s not what happened!” Cyra hissed, hands clenching tightly on her tray, digging into the metal.

“Aww… did I ruffle the feather of your lovebird?” Melete pouted mockingly at Cyra, shifting closer to whisper to Nyreen. “You know you’re no good for her.”

“I said lay off her!” Cyra growled, her tray flying across the floor.

“No!” Nyreen spun to push Cyra away just as her talons slashed across Melete’s face.

The other turian let out a pained shriek and stumbled back, cobalt blue blood trickling down from her lacerated mandible. Her posse froze at the unexpected strike, and each of them slowly breaking into rabid growls. Cyra dropped low in an aggressive fighting stance, hissing menacingly at Melete’s companions. The cafeteria erupted into a riot as the fight broke out. A horde of trainees rushed and encircled them, hollering and cheering as the young turians pounced each other. Droplets of blood hit the floor as talons and fists flew into exposed plates. Nyreen sprung to catch Cyra as she fell back from a square hit in the jaw. But another turian jumped, and they rolled back into the fight again, devoured by crowd.

“Stop!” Nyreen cried, pushing through the frenzy to reach Cyra, and the chaos pushed back. Suddenly her heart stopped as she saw streaks of blue across Cyra’s cheek, and in the next heart beat, a surge of force swelled, bursting from her inner being and connected with the physical reality around her. “EVERYONE STOP!” She screamed, arm stretching forward as the force flared from her hand like gust of swirling blue flame, radiating in a tide of shockwave and slammed everyone to the floor.

The entire place fell silent. Nyreen stood in the middle as blue aura slowly dissipated into thin mist, feeling the stunned and terrified stares of everyone around her. Cyra pushed someone off and sat up, and fear filled her eyes as she looked upon Nyreen, seeing only uncertainty.

* * *

The same flag of the Hierarchy hung indomitably above the officer’s desk. Its aggressively sharp lines seemed to reach right out of the fabric, clawing at Cyra’s heart, ripping it right out of her chest.

“Ms. Coronis,” the officer began, eyes scanning the report as he scrolled through the same datapad. “Your report card reads like the Hierarchy military manual. Excellent scores across the board in both solo and squad tactics. The sign of an effective soldier and leader. The only black spot on your record…”

The only black spot on her record was the _accident_ , where they failed the exercise. Cyra finished the sentence in her head.

“Such initiative and tenacity is uncommon in ones such as your age, Ms. Coronis,” he went on, now setting the datapad down and studying the turian before him, fingers interlaced on the desk. “Which makes your recent insubordination that much more unfortunate.”

Insubordination. Cyra wanted to scoff, but the scene had drained her of the will to laugh. They had come to escort Nyreen off the base after the cafeteria incident, citing a laundry list of security concerns. The escorts weren’t regular soldiers either, they were all Cabalists. And she had punched one of them square in the nose, before being flung into a wall and kept there with biotics.

Nyreen had lost control again and unleashed a swirling biotic storm, but it only rippled harmlessly against the Cabalists’ barriers. One of them lifted a indifferent hand towards her and held her in a stasis.

“You can come with us on your feet,” the Cabalist had said, her melodic voice distant and venomous. “Or you can come with us on your knees.”

And that was the last time she saw Nyreen.

“Normally for this offense, we would simply take you off combat roster and put you behind a desk for the rest of your service,” the officer droned on. “But in recognition of your past exemplary actions, I’m going to give you a chance to choose where to go.”

A small mercy, so small it seemed patronizing. “Navy,” Cyra said monotonously, but her fury threatened to burst and consume this room. “Pilot.”

“Very well. Any particular reason?” The officer filled in the request form, asking out of courtesy.

“Yes,” she said, mandibles flaring into a smirk, grim yet sorrowful. Leaving was the only victory she could afford after losing her purpose here. “I want to get the hell away from this place.”


End file.
